Check out what our old pal Joseph O’Brien’s been up to!
sunrise a momentary dream field
December 31, 2021 by at 7:47 am
december
1.
humanity’s trees
will see what happens
in the middle of nowherethanks for the update and for
the only thing that
the only thing is[all but the first line written with keyboard suggestions]
2.
southeastward yellow
sunrise unfurls its
brief banner of buoyant bluesky a longing lavender
ladder to climb out
of darkening thoughts3.
clouds above below
the morning fog that
rubs its back along the hillssunrise a momentary
dream field of faintly
glowing marigolds4.
again great river
bring down new colors
ravaged tinged periwinkleblanched silverfringed brakelight orange
long-distance lovelight
mirrored memories5.
morning’s rhythmic
glacial paradox
speed of light and enormousinfinitesimal near-
ness near pausing
distantly changing6.
drab slab of monday
sky like a weak nudge
when a hammer’s what’s neededto crush the brain’s hard dark beans
and steep them in light
to negate the night7.
the bridge to winter
carries my gray dreams
over the great gray riverreflecting the absence of
the consolation
of sunrise or sleep8.
immaculate sun
rising in the wind
bursting from under blanketsof clouds a woman waking
on her fortieth
birthday breathing light9.
the disappointment
of seeking sunrise
in the sadness of a towna pretty how town but sad
in its brushfire heart
and cloud drift dream light*
cauldron of morning
burning through bare limbs
over unaware rooftopsdistant furnace fire glowing
deep in the heart of
impending winter10.
the gods’ persimmons
glowing in the east
queen of heaven pray for usand clouds like fermenting plums
storing drunken sleep
for the winter blues11.
a river’s disguise
of cloud-cloaked sunrise
at the railroad bridge at dawna light afoot that muggles
don’t notice climbs a
dark enormity12.
humble lovely bridge
unassuming violet
clouds with creamy brightcurlicues of light
dispelling autumnal night
and darkness’s arc13.
cable bridge sunrise
black dog rabbitbrush
river flowing in the nowcarrying gifts to the sun
frankincense skyline
clouds of mystic myrrh14.
the sun is rising
behind a curtain
of dark and light shades of bluebehind the blue bridge that spans
the big blue river
glistening with birds15.
beguiled by colour
three time zones away
when i woke far too earlyand my co-conspirator
televideoed
what i then screenshot16.
thin band of faintly
gleaming alice blue
sandwiched by bland grey aboveand the numb brown of autumn’s
somber surrender
to winter below17.
words are too worn out
or not worn enough
insufficient to the taskthey can only fall prostrate
to the snowy ground
and stammer eastward18.
approaching solstice
no sun evident
just snow and fog and the soundof the day reluctantly
getting underway
and blessëd coffee19.
this is what passes
for sunrise winter
standing at the door smilinggrimly icy sickle teeth
somber cloudy shrouds
and christmas cookies20.
flying towards sunrise
breathing burning coals
glowing from last night’s campfireclouds are smoldering ashes
powdery and dark
the airplane my tent21.
reconciled to snow
back yard relaxes
into the mind of winterpandemic blessings
glad isolation
gold nugget sunrise22.
jesus in the snow
nature’s new year’s day
you want to travel with himand you want to travel blind
across the water
to that paradise23.
clouds stained with the night
drift casually
over sweet potato skiesthe river used to freezing
this time of year gives
itself to sunrise24.
tanager-like sun
beginning its slow
migration from solstice daytowards the spring equinox
furtively orange
bringing glad tidings25.
sun costuming clouds
on christmas morning
out the window all we seeis snow falling on the warm
antiquity of
self and flakes of love26.
behold the sunrise
masked to protect us
from deadly december raysthe virus of happiness
that would infect us
if we dare let it27.
no one waiting here
hear the beating heart
now here now nowhere no onethe heart of winter waiting
no one hearing now
here one sunrise pulse28.
winter means something
snow some nothing thing
hiding something underneathsunrise hidden like a bulb
a magic nothing
a secret something29.
there is no sunrise
no rise no risen
sun hidden within itselfkeeping its own secret safe
for the hills and trees
frozen in their dreams30.
the bleak midwinter
the bleak midwinter
the bleak midwinter the bleakmidwinter is in my soul
sunrise on my mind
the bleak midwinter31.
we wake up and drive
to the horizon
to inspect the frozen fogconcealing the last sunrise
of this year of grace
the day of your birth
These Guys Want to Have a Few Words with You
July 20, 2018 by at 9:27 am
Did you hear? Next Sunday, you ought to get drunk at Mass.
But in a sober way, of course.
That’s what the Liturgy Guys were saying during one of their recent podcasts.
“And the Darkness Did Not Comprehend It”
February 21, 2018 by at 12:08 pm
An early December story in The Hollywood Reporter recounts the first time that Hollywood actress Meryl Streep and legendary director Steven Spielberg met. “Most of the time,” Streep recalled in the December 5 story by Peter Galloway, she and Spielberg “talked about how his property was haunted and did I know anybody who did exorcisms? And of course, I did. I got him a priest.”
This comment from a member of the Hollywood community might come as a surprise to some people. After all, Streep works for the same business that produced a legion of movies about the devil—from Rosemary’s Baby to The Omen to The Exorcist—all in one way giving the devil more than his due by sensationalizing evil. Sure, images of devil and hellfire help maximize ticket sales—but do people in Hollywood actually believe all this Satan stuff?
While it’s not clear from The Hollywood Reporter story whether the famed director rid his house of the suspected evil, it is clear that even those who make fantasies for a living accept that the devil is real and that when he shows up on its doorstep, even the world of make-believe knows there’s only one place to turn: the Catholic Church.
Perhaps implicit in Streep’s recommendation to Spielberg is an understanding that believer and non-believer alike acknowledge, grudgingly or not—that the Catholic Church alone offers a direct, no-nonsense and effective solution to demonic affliction…
Mars Hill, J.F. and JOB
December 20, 2017 by at 10:39 am
Happy Feast of Saint Rita
May 22, 2017 by at 10:50 am
Here’s a little bit from the oratorio I helped with, performed last year in Dallas.
CHORUS
Good Friday. Day of evil deeds
The lamb is slaughtered, pierced and hung
The heavenly choir stills its tongue
And weeps as the Almighty bleeds
Now love reveals its awful cost
And silence meets the anguished cry
I am abandoned, Father, why?
Now God is hid, now man is lost
TOMAS
I woke last night to nothing
No light or sound had stirred me
Nor lover’s touch, I was alone
Nothing woke me, as I said
And nothing found me when I woke
Nothing waited for my waking
Just as nothing waits upon my dying
But death – now death is something
The only certain thing in life
And only pain can hope to match
Its claim of universal reach
Do I sound glib? It’s how I cope
For nothing fills the hole that God has left.
And what is to be done? Why, nothing.
This sounds vaguely familiar…
October 18, 2016 by at 9:31 pm
But I could swear it takes place on the West Coast – in a place like Seattle or something…
Remember This Guy?
August 13, 2016 by at 11:09 am
He made his Korrektiv debut here.
And now Hollywood – or at least Czechslovkiawood – found him.
So now we await the word of a famous film kritik, whom we all know and admire, on whether Korrektiv gets to kollekt any royalties from the movie…
Race Relations in Seattle
November 30, 2015 by at 2:20 am
So I’m waiting for my ride at 5th and Jackson, when my bus driver friend Gary (older black gentleman, very nice, but very formal) drives up in the #14. A lady with tattoos on her face staggers towards the bus as I’m talking to him, so I step back to let her on, rolling my eyes to let Gary know he’s got a real winner coming on board. She’s just trashed, and being Caucasian, I guess that makes her White Trash (in this part of town, it’s probably 50/50 odds the inebriated person is black or white. The Asians are rarely wasted, or they never show it, and I won’t even mention the Native Americans).
Anyway, after the drunk Caucasian lady stumbles past Gary, he looks at me and says, “That’s one of your people, Finnegan.” Then he closes the door and drives on up Jackson.
Maybe you’d need to know Gary, but it was funny as hell.
Now, if our roles were reversed, could I say the same thing, and would it be funny? Obviously no, and I think it could be justifiably considered a racist comment. Doesn’t that mean that Gary’s comment is racist as well? What’s fair (or unfair) for someone on the basis of race must be fair or unfair for someone of a different race, right?
Only if you’re an idiot. The manner in which people of different races, especially blacks and whites, view one another has a long history in this country, and ignoring it, or trying to ignore it, turns us into fools. People are different. We treat different people differently, and that’s just the way it is.
No, it doesn’t mean racism is a laughing matter. Neither, in most or at least many circumstances, are drunkenness and tattooed faces. And I’m not sure how well this story would play in front of a crowd, told by a comedian. In fact, this seems like a pretty good illustration of the difference between what’s funny for professional comedians, and what it means to have a sense of humor in the midst of whatever life happens to throw at you. The former can be enjoyable, but the latter is necessary so that life doesn’t become unbearable.
The Novel May or May Not Be Dead …
January 27, 2015 by at 12:53 pm
… according to a magazine nobody bothers to read any more. I think this article is mostly, or probably, or at least hopefully a load of crap, but the subject is certainly on a lot of people’s minds. Maybe because a lot of people want to write novels, but still … c’mon now!
The novel still stands, sure enough, but it stands uneasily, a kitschy McMansion whose vocabulary is steadfastly outdated, a form that can only look backward. I can’t think of a single full-length novel published in 2014 that did anything new. Most of the ones I read rehashed the same realistic formula that has held at least since Raskolnikov wandered through St. Petersburg’s dingy courtyards.
A McMansion? Really? Might this have more to do with which particular shelf you choose to browse?
And don’t forget that Korrektiv has a couple of novels, or one novel and one novella qua screenplay, available for your reading pleasure just as soon as you can tear your eyes away from this screen.
My Email to Garrison Keillor re. Walker Percy
June 19, 2014 by at 6:35 am
Dear Mr. Keillor,
You and Walker Percy both occupy honored places in my personal constellation of literary stars.
That’s why I was shocked and disappointed by your treatment of Dr. Percy in the May 28, 2014 edition of The Writer’s Almanac. Percy never worked as a psychiatrist. In fact, although he was an M.D., he never really practiced medicine. He contracted tuberculosis while conducting autopsies during a residency in pathology at the end of medical school.
And that synopsis of The Moviegoer (which thankfully only appears in the printed version of TWA) is just as horribly askew. Binx Bolling is a stockbroker who goes to the movies but “in an attempt to get over a nervous breakdown” reeks of having been pulled out of someone’s ass who never read the book and doesn’t really care.
I’m not sure I can trust what you say on TWA anymore.
Maybe what you need is a crusty old librarian who cares about real facts and knows how to dig into reliable sources. Coincidentally, I am just such a librarian (and poor starving poet to boot, having earned $100 from TWA, thank you very much, and about $3.95 in royalties since publishing my book). I would be interested in supplementing my meager poet-librarian’s salary, if you’re hiring.
I didn’t start off this email thinking it would turn into a job application, but the spirit surprises us sometimes.
Let me know what you think. In any case, I’m looking forward to what you come up with for Walker Percy the next time his birthday comes round.
All the best,
Jonathan Potter
Spokane WA
From the Korrektiv HR Dept.
June 16, 2014 by at 7:21 am
Wisconglish for “Mass Transit System Career Opportunities – Now Hiring!”
Jobe?
Webb?
Lucrative Perks…the parking lot in which the vehicle is located belongs to a newly opened microbrewery…Sunshine more than three days a year (even when it’s 40 degrees below zero!)… and, as always, unique camping experiences.
The Mule
October 17, 2013 by at 12:03 pm
His modus operandi was to take the trolley
downtown from James, buds in his ears, shades,
a trench coat rain or shine, and sheet music
for songs by Porter, Gershwin, and Schubert.
When I once called him maestro, he protested
loudly, his arms waving up and down so vivace
his mack fluttered like a tailcoat at the podium.
On the last trip I saw him he was too decrepit
to use the stairs, and gestured for the lift
with a much more measured use of his hand, lento.
Months later I was told by another passenger
how he’d been busted for muling oxycodone
out of Harborview, in a disguise hiding
the means by which an old man lived for music.
Lickona on the state of the San Diego theater scene
Korrektiv author Matthew Lickona keeps chugging along at the San Diego Reader! Here are his contributions to the recent Music & Arts issue. (Click on the link and scroll down.)